Friday June 12, 2009
Having arrived at the pretty amazing looking campsite at a pitiful 9pm, despite a fairly traffic-free journey, I erect my tent in record time, hope I don’t regret my rushed job come a downpour and fire off to the main stage. The backdrop is awe-inspiring behind the main stage; Loch Ness reaches to meet the sky and both mimic each others colour as best they can. Either side hills yawn into the distance and I would say that Inverary’s Connect (RIP) is the only festival in my experience that could rival Rockness‘ simply stunning setting.
On stage, Friday’s main stage headliner The Flaming Lips are playing to a puzzlingly diminished crowd. As I look around I swear I can see one of the Family Ness jump up to grab a note or two for lunch, then realise I’m being silly. However, literally nothing would seem to bizarre to believe possible, for a band who are flanked by an army of dancing tellytubbies and what looks like the very hungry caterpillar. Just before the encore, there’s enough time for the now seemingly obligatory American musician speech about what a dick Bush was and the fellatio for Obama. They wrap up with the stunning ‘Do You Realise’ and as they do I conclude that it may have been questionable to put The Flaming Lips on as a Friday headliner, particularly at this sort of festival. Do you realise, as epic and beautiful as it is, perhaps would have been more suited to bring Rockness to a close.
A wee wander later and we find ourselves in the Wrongness tent for the Ceilidh, fully expecting a bit of dashing white sergeants and traditional frivolity. Disappoint lies in wait as this is less strip the willow, more stripped down acid jazz with a violin playing lines vaguely reminiscent of the original tunes. Bemused as to how anyone could mess with such a winning formula as highland country dancing, I am shocked to discover that a human being exists who can make this worse. A skinny feller saunters up to a microphone and starts delivering apparently free styled rhymes based loosely on the names of dances. To label it cringeworthy would sell cringing short, though I sincerely hope he enjoyed his day out and was returned to his cell in Raigmore psychiatric ward promptly.
Saturday June 13
I bum around the campsite enjoying the frankly implausibly stunning weather and try to correct my spine after the abysmal chiropractic job my badly constructed tent did during the night. At some point, I heard the pitter-patter of tiny raindrops but thankfully the rain has held off. Full of pride for inventing a new drink called a Rocktail (Jack, coke, lime, blackcurrant, white wine, velvet, vodka), I ponder what I’m going to do to the idiot whose scheduling error means I have to choose between the stupendous Frightened Rabbit and my beloved French Wives. But arriving at the desolate Fat Sam Tent, I make a snap decision and run back up the hill made all the more insurmountable by my newly acquired wellies and the sweltering heat. I arrive at the Black Isle Pub in time to see the majority of a storming set by the newly reunited French Wives, all the richer for guitarist Scott’s presence.
I arrive back at the now packed Fat Sam Tent to witness a troubled set from Selkirk’s favourite sons Frightened Rabbit. Technical difficulties are probably to blame but in the short set is littered with time and tuning slips. Though towards the tail end during anthems ‘Keep Yourself Warm’ and ‘Head Rolls Off’, it seems to be forgotten – mass singalongs ensue. Festivalgoers with an iota of sense wait in Fat Sam’s for the downpour of Noah’s Arc proportions to finish, and I bask in the warm glow of my own smug self-satisfaction at having already swapped my moth bitten four-year-old trainers for a shiny new pair of wellies.
Frightened Rabbit - photo by Euan Anderson
The weather stops almost on cue for Dizzee Rascal, who entertains a bumper crowd with a selection of hits ranging from recent collaborative effort ‘Dance With Me’ to first single ‘Fix Up, Look Sharp. There’s just enough time to trek up the hill to catch half an hour of recently reformed dance giants Orbital who, I am pleased to report, still wear those glasses with lights on the side, making them look like the softest Dr. Who villains of all time.
Dizzee Rascal - photo by Euan Anderson
Sadly headliner time must be split and it’s time for Basement Jaxx who play a super greatest hits set, which really ticks every box that you want in a festival headliner. The tracks are feel good pop songs considerably improved in the live arena, the warmth emanating from the stage and the atmosphere as good as you experience at any other festival in the UK; ‘Romeo’ and ‘Bingo Bango’ are particular highlights.
Basement Jaxx - photo by Euan Anderson
Sunday June 14
The oppressive warmth of my tent is made all the more unbearable as I discover my arms are brutally sunburnt. Upon inspection of my face, burning is present there too, though not as apparent. I think I must be the only person ever to get burned by the Invernesshire sun, particularly to this level, I am such a bright red you could have put an antenna on my head and had me dancing by the side of Wayne Coyne. Down to what can only be an administrative error of the highest order, the sun is in scorching form again and campers litter the ground as though war wounded.
To the music, and having endured 10 minutes of the finest unredeemable slurry that The Wombats could offer, the members of our group with taste hit the Clash arena for some breakbeat genius in the form of Soulwax, the crowd lap it up. Shapes are thrown. Biffy Clyro rounds off a musically chalk and cheese hour, with a perfectly balanced set mercifully ranging their entire career from the brutal 57 to the heartbreaking Machines. This is something that is to be expected, though, of a band with enough experience to easily be labelled festival veterans, particularly in their homeland. Sadly I can only manage to watch the hero that is James Murphy spin some classic disco tunes for 10 minutes, before I have to hot foot it back to the main stage for festival closers, The Prodigy.
It’s a set that’s almost as brutal as Biffy Clyro’s, which has barely died on the air yet, and contrary to popular belief it’s the set of a band who still have the energy and the tunes to cut it at this level. Though sparsely scattered throughout, the new songs mark a return to the former glories of their early rave-influenced albums, an inspiration certainly less apparent on Always Outnumbered… Many of the tracks feel as fresh as the day I first heard them, and seem to have more life breathed into them with every pace Keith Flint makes on the spot, as though he’s jumping on a set of bellows.
I am relieved to report that though Flint is mere weeks from the big 4-0, and has put on a few pounds, he still looks and conducts himself like an absolute nutjob. This is not a band merely going through the motions 20 years before bursting onto the scene to give Britpop a kick in the stones. This band still believe in these songs and the set is delivered with refreshing conviction. And why not? ‘Firestarter’, ‘Breathe’ and ‘Out of Space’ are all, from the crowd’s reaction, timeless classics and certainly tunes I’d rather define my generation than ‘Live Forever’.
All too briefly, the fireworks are blooming in the sky and again the loch does its best job at recreating the beauty that the sky is claiming. All pour into the last tent playing music for the last few tunes of Erol Alkan, and when calls of “wan mair tune!” go unheeded, with explosive remnants still hanging in the overcast sky, it’s all over.
Hopefully the withdrawals of Zane Lowe and Brodinski will have saved the organisers enough money to feasibly host this festival next year, despite turbulent economic conditions which have seen so many festivals cancelled this year. This was Rockness’ fourth year however, with this weekend as evidence, this festival appears to be well established enough to ride the storm. This reporter certainly hopes so.
More photos by Euan Anderson were taken, have a gander: Alabama 3, Biffy Clyro, Placebo, Sneaky Sound System, Soulwax,
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